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The Man Who Saved Me (Updated 20 Jan - Chapters 1 to 23)

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13 hours ago, Speech500 said:

I pick up mountains in my hands like toys and crush them, throw them into space, boil them with heat vision.

Oh, my!  The hottest scene that ever transpired in Antarctica.

Also - Poor Antarctica!

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On 1/8/2019 at 11:52 AM, Speech500 said:

Gotta keep you coming back somehow 

Your writing is suberb, Speech500.  We don't need a cliffhanger to keep coming back for more of your masterpiece!

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A minor gore warning here and for the next chapter - there are some quite violent scenes and I know not everyone is into that. 

Chapter 19

Natasha Vane.

That’s the name Lucy had heard. It takes me a while to place, but I eventually do. The journalist. The one we met the day at the ruins of the Shard. When I met her, she had been working at the Spectator. Google tells me that she recently got an offer from a much larger publication. Their office in Central London spans many floors, so it’s easy to find.

I land outside, making sure no one notices me, and walk confidently through the foyer. I don’t look around curiously or hesitate or give any sign that I’m unfamiliar with the building. I learned long ago that if you look like you know what you’re doing, most people will leave you to it. Hell, considering my height and physique, they probably think I’m some famous athlete here to be interviewed. Navigating an unfamiliar place is a lot less difficult when you can see through walls. After briefly scoping the place out, I find Natasha’s office, and head straight for it.  

I knock on the door three times, careful not to leave a mark. Until I find out exactly how much Natasha knows, I need to keep my powers secret. A journalist will always feel the draw to publish, especially if they know about someone as interesting as me. And while I could threaten to hurt her if she does, I’m not sure it would work. She’d find a way to get the information out there.

The door opens. “Hello? How can I-“ Natasha registers my face, and moves to slam the door. It’s pathetically easy to hold it steady even as she pushes with all her strength.

“Can I come in?”

Her gaze flickers to the busy foyer behind me in search of help, then to my hand on the door, then to my powerful body, rippling with muscle. I can see the cogs turning in her head as she realises there’s no other option. “Sure.”

Wise choice.

I step inside and close the door behind me. It’s a tiny office. I could cross it in two steps. But an office is an office, and that’s more than most journalists get. “I think you know why I’m here.”

She leans back against the desk, tapping her fingers on the wood. “I have a vague idea.” When I don’t reply, she continues. “A couple of days ago, some guys came in asking for information about you and Jake. Said they were from the government. I didn't think twice about it. When you work at one of these big papers, you get used to official types wandering in and out, taking evidence, throwing around injunctions. It’s how they work. I told them about my article and that we hadn’t had any further contact after. They started rooting through my computer until they found that picture I took of Jake’s burned back – the original, before I’d cropped you out. I guess that’s what they wanted, because they left straight away and I haven't seen them since.”

“That’s all?” I can feel my heart sink. This isn’t enough.

“Yes. Why?” She seems to sense my trepidation, and waves a hand. “Never mind.”

“Have you noticed anything else unusual? Anything at all?”

Natasha’s brow furrows. She frowns, and turns to peer out of the window. “There was… No, forget it. Probably nothing.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve been seeing a lot of white vans. Sometimes the same ones, sometimes with different license plates. Wherever I go, they’re parked outside. It’s as if they’re waiting for me. Watching me. At home, my boyfriend’s house, even here. I’ve tried searching the registration numbers but they don’t show up on any websites.”

I nod, making a mental note. This could be useful. Maybe if I find one of these trucks, they'll have information on Jake. “Thanks.”


I shrug. “If I learn anything interesting, I’ll let you know.”

Her shoulders droop in disappointment. “Sure. Well if that’s all you wanted…”

“Thanks.” I say, giving a strained smile. “Oh, and Natasha?”

She looks up at me.

“The recorder you’ve got taped under your desk. Give it to me.” I hold out a hand. She clearly wants to refuse, or at least ask how I knew about it. I narrow my eyes to show I’m serious, but without scaring her. After a moment, she reaches under for the recorder and hands it to me. My fingers effortlessly close over it. There’s a distinct crunching sound which makes Natasha’s eyes widen. I let the broken remains – a few pieces of plastic and some disintegrated electronics – fall into the waste basket.

Leaving her open mouthed at my display of strength, I make my way outside.

At first I’m expecting a difficult search, but as soon as I step into the open air, I see a nondescript white van parked along the side of the road, no doubt waiting for Natasha to finish her shift. There are two men in the front, dressed all in black. “Shit, it’s the big guy! What the fuck is he doing here?” I hear one of them say to the other. Their eyes meet mine and the truck roars to life. As it thunders down the street, I spring into the air to follow.

“Drive, asshole! Drive!” The guy in the passenger seat howls, dropping all pretence at stealth as he stares out of the passenger window. The white truck swerves in and out of traffic at top speed, its tires squealing, engine roaring. Even if I didn’t have senses a thousand times stronger than a normal human, it would be hard to miss the honking horns of other drivers, the screams of pedestrians as they dodge out of the way, the smell of burning rubber. They think they’re getting away. That’s cute. I’ve been watching them the whole way from a spot so high that I’m almost invisible from the ground.

If they were heading to the place where Jake is being kept, I might leave them to it. But I doubt they are. No one could be that stupid. Based on the way they're driving, they’re trying to put as much distance between the van and me as possible. I guess I’ll just let them go until they decide to stop, or run out of fuel. It doesn’t matter to me. They’re not escaping either way.

You can’t run from a god.

“Where is he?” The driver’s voice is shaking.

“I don’t know, just keep driving!” Replies the other.

The truck turns onto an empty street in a Council Estate in Barnet, then puts pedal to the metal. It surges on, faster and faster, gaining speed it can’t control as it approaches a junction. A nearby school is emptying out for the day. Students flood across the road, chatting about movies and texting on their phones, oblivious to the three tonne battering ram heading straight towards them.

I wanted to let these guys tire themselves out, but this has forced my hand.

I descend from the sky at twice the speed of sound, splitting the clouds like a pebble breaking the surface of a pond. I land without decelerating, slamming into the road just ahead of the truck with so much force that half of the street is torn up by the shockwave. Tarmac smokes and hisses around my feet. I look up in time to see expressions of complete terror cross the faces of the driver and his companion. The breaks shriek to life, but it’s too little, too late. The grill strikes my legs at forty miles an hour, and the rest of the truck comes with it. Piece by piece, it crumples against a wall muscle harder than diamond. Tires pop, metal grinds and warps, glass shatters, and I haven’t budged an inch. My height allows me to stare over the wreckage at my targets, through the remains of the windscreen.

I disentangle myself from the wreckage with ease, jostling the van in the process. It’s so effortless, the sound of grinding steel is the only giveaway that I’m doing anything supernatural. With my legs free, I slowly make my way to the driver-side door. Normally I would have to school my features and body language to intimidate. But I’m so furious at the idea of these men taking Jake away from me that I don’t need to do anything at all. My powerful fingers tear the door off its hinges like it’s made of tissue paper.  The driver tries to scramble away, but it’s useless. Once my hand closes around his throat, nothing on earth can force me to let go. His legs were crushed in the collision and he has a superficial cut on his forehead. That must hurt. I don’t care.

“Where is he?” My voice comes out deep and harsh. The driver’s face is bathed in a red glow and it takes me a moment to realise the light is coming from my eyes.

“Who?” He struggles to get the words out as my fingers clamp tighter. “I’m just-“ A gasping breath. “I’m just the driver. They don’t-“ His face is starting to go purple. “They don't tell me anything.”

He’s telling the truth. I can spot micro-expressions that no eye or camera could detect. If I’m looking for lies, if I focus, it’s impossible to fool me. And this man isn’t lying.

I let his body fall to the ground in a heap. He moans in pain as he lands awkwardly on his broken legs. Some part of me knows that crippling a guy who was just following orders is wrong. I know I should feel guilt, remorse, regret. But all I feel is anger. Jake had a calming presence. He could bring me back from the brink with just a word and a tender touch, in a way no one else could. I thought I’d developed my self-control, but now I realise it was all him. He made me a gentle giant. And now he’s gone. 

My gaze turns to the passenger seat, only to find it empty, the door wide open. How did the bastard get away without me noticing? I must have been concentrating too hard on the driver. It’s not a problem, though. I listen for the sound of a racing heart, and find it in an instant. I follow the sound with my eyes to see him crouched behind a skip on the next street over, fumbling desperately at a nasty gash in his side.

This time there isn’t a chase. I’m done playing around with. I grab him by the back of his coat and hoist him several thousand feet into the sky before he even has time to gasp. London sprawls out beneath us. Now that I get a good look at his face, he strikes me as familiar. "You were at the café.”

“I don’t know anything!” Lie.

“I thought I made myself clear the last time we met. Never touch my boyfriend.” His heart is hammering in his chest and his skin is clammy. He looks down at the city below and flinches. This man is terrified out of his mind, but it’s not enough for me. I want him to hurt.

“Please! I didn’t realise they were going to abduct him!” Lie.

“They cut off his toe with fucking wire cutters! The love of my life! They did that to him, just to manipulate me.”

“Really, I had nothing to do with it! Please man, just put me down!” Lie.

I bring him closer until our eyes are inches apart, mine red and brimming with fury, his grey and wet with tears. “They’re going to cut off a piece of his body every time I don’t do what they want.” I grab his tiny hand in my huge, strong one. “That’s what I’m going to do to you. But I don’t have any wire cutters, so this is going to hurt.” With one swift movement, my fingers clench down on his soft flesh and tear the hand from his body. Bones crunch and snap, and the man’s high pitched screams fill the sky.

“Where is Jake being held?”

He shakes his head, delirious with pain. “I don’t know man, please, oh god, please.” Lie.

Now my hand closes around his arm just below the elbow. Grip, crush, twist, tear. He screams again, this time weaker and more shrill. Blood pours from his wound like a fountain. I need to get an answer before he goes unconscious.

“Where is he?"

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” He mutters as he stares unblinking at the stump of his arm with crazed eyes. “I can’t tell you, man! They’ll kill me! They’ll kill me if I say.” Truth. But that doesn’t matter. I have no plans on letting this piece of shit survive.

My hand closes around the top of his upper arm, where it meets his shoulder. I begin to squeeze.

“Stop! Please! Don’t do it!” He hangs his head, dejected. “They’re… They’re keeping him in an abandoned processing plant on the outskirts of Bristol. It has three brick chimneys. That’s… that’s where he is.” Truth.

I let go of his arm.

“Can you put me down now? Please, man. I need to go to the hospital. ” He struggles to keep his chin up and the skin of his face is pale. Blood loss. Severe.

“Fine.” I say, releasing my grip on the back of his coat. He doesn’t even scream as he falls, becoming a tiny dot below me. I could watch him hit the ground if I wanted, watch him die with a loud crack on the pavement. But he’s not worth my attention. Not anymore.

I fly west in search for the processing plant, focusing my sight on the distant grey sprawl at the mouth of the River Severn. The factory stands out so clearly that it almost seems to be mocking me. Now that I know what to look for, I notice an unusual number of white trucks parked nearby. That’s where they’re keeping him. That’s where I’m going.

These bastards took the world from me. It’s time to take it back.

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31 minutes ago, Speech500 said:

So... who wants to take bets on who wins? Dean or the kidnappers? 

Would be hella fun the guy called the faclity to warn them about Dean so they probably moved the guy out of there and are doing terrible things to him just to show Dean they are not fucking around. After all the know that if they are caught by Dean they are better of dead so they have nothing to loose.

"You mess with us, we mess with you"

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I'm worried about this quote from Chapter 5:  “You’ll lose me the moment you kill another person in my name. That’s a promise, Dean. Never Again.”  Has Dean forgotten about this?  He didn't have to kill that guy. 

Though it was kind of hot.

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Ultimately, Dean wins but there will be a price to pay.

Dean's mental health is my concern. The anger and rage without the calming control of his love, Jake, is strong and overpowering. Should Dean discover that Jake is further harmed or worse, Dean may descend into a black hole of seething fury and rage from which he may never escape. I sincerely hope not, or the Earth and all life here could be in peril.

Just loved the imagery of the destruction of the truck colliding with Dean's unmoving muscle. A billion hits on YouTube with the dozens of clips posted by the school students.

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Once again, a serious gore warning.

Chapter 20


I can never tell whether I'm conscious any more. In my waking moments, I feel pain. In my dreams, all I think about is pain. The pain of loss, of loneliness, of hopelessness. And also the pain of good old fashioned wounds. 

“Rob, look at this.” One of the guys – I think his name is Mike – approaches the group’s leader and holds out his phone. I distantly hear the BBC News intro, and then a voice too faint to detect.

Robbie frowns. “Damn. The Saudi is dead. So the guy actually did it?

“I never thought he would. Have you seen the police footage from his little crime-fighting thing? He’s so careful not to break the law, I didn’t expect him to actually murder a guy.” Mike responds.

“Dean… he’s not a murderer.” I mumble, still bound to my chair. Every muscle in my body aches. There’s a constant throbbing pain coming from my toe. I’m hungry, tired, cold, I have a headache. I feel sick. It’s hard to see anything here. There are a few LED lanterns on the ground, but outside their circle of light, the factory is silent and totally black.

“Baby’s awake.” Robbie grins, turning to me. “Sorry to break it to you, mate, but Dean killed a guy. Not much of a hero after all, huh?

“He had no choice.” My voice is getting stronger now. I know Dean. I know how much he’s tried to avoid hurting people, how far he’s come. He wouldn’t have taken any pleasure in killing that Prince. “You blackmailed him. Fucking monster.”

Robbie stomps toward me, getting in my face. “You should really be more polite. I’m the one who decides which parts of you get chopped off. And right now, I’m leaning towards your nose. Show some respect, and you might get away with losing another toe.”

“Boss, it’s been three hours. Deadline’s up.”

“Great. Someone get me my balaclava.” With a skip in his step, Robbie begins setting up the webcam. They’ve hacked into my home computer so that they can start video calls whenever they want. I don’t get to see the screen because it’s turned away from me. It’s an effort to keep my head up. I just want one peek at Dean’s handsome face. I want to hear his deep, calming voice. That will get me through all the hell I know is coming.

“Hello?” Robbie sings into the microphone. “Hellooooo?” Time seems to slow as they wait for Dean to appear. If he isn’t present to accept his next task, I take the consequences. I refuse to believe he would let that happen to me, and yet as the minutes stretch on, Dean is nowhere to be found. Robbie’s face gradually lights up at the thought of mutilating me. They really found the right guy for the job. “Well…” He eventually says, turning to face me with a chilling gleam in his eye. “Looks like Superfreak wimped out. You know what that means.” As he says this, he pulls out a wicked sharp knife. I flinch against my bindings.

But before Robbie gets a chance to do anything, a high pitched tune starts reverberating around the factory, echoing off the walls. He sighs, taking out his phone. “What is it? I’m in the middle of something?” Then his face pales, his eyes grow wide. “What? How? When was this? Do we have time to- shit. Okay.”

The call ends.

“That was one of the drivers. Change of plan, boys. The freak took Gavin. If he gets any info, he’ll find us soon enough.” He begins barking out orders as the other men in black start whispering fearfully. “Get your guns – I want every single one armed and ready. You, you and you: load up the trucks. We need to get the fuck out of here.” The men rush to follow his commands.

I hold my breath, waiting for whatever comes next. Two dozen guys take up position around the factory in preparation for the arrival of their target. They’re all pretty big, clearly strong and skilled. I suspect they’re special-forces – or possibly a mercenary group, judging by the crude way they communicate. Either way, they know what they’re doing.

Dean’s arrival isn’t slow. He doesn’t knock on the door like an old lady asking for sugar. He slams through the vaulted brick ceiling to land with a resounding crack which shakes the foundations of the factory. It happens so quickly, and the room is so huge and badly lit that the men take a moment to realise what just happened. Then across the room, two red lights flicker to life against the darkness.

The air is ruptured by the drill of gunfire. Every shot starts with a boom and ends with a high pitched ping as the bullet bounces, ricochets, or compacts against Dean’s dense muscle. Every shot echoes back on itself over and over, until it’s impossible to figure out where one sound ends and another begins. I feel like I’m tied to the chair in the middle of a war I can’t see. All the while, those red eyes flicker from person to person as they scope out the room. 

Robbie must have called for a ceasefire because the shooting stops all at once. A torch is raised and pointed at Dean, illuminating his monstrously tall, thick body. His shirt has been shredded, revealing a flawless chest without a single bruise or cut in sight. I watch unblinking as Robbie steps closer to Dean, his gun raised, finger on the trigger. When he gets close enough to poke Dean’s shoulder with the barrel, Dean turns to meet his gaze. At the same time, I feel the cold bite of a knife on my neck.

“Let’s not be hasty, big guy.” Robbie croons. “You wouldn’t want anything to happen to dear sweet Jake, would you?”

Dean looks over at the man behind me, his face contorting in anger. Then he looks at Robbie again. I recognise that expression. It never leads to anything good.

What happens next is burned into my mind for the rest of my life. It happens too quickly to see. It’s not even a blur. One moment Dean and Robbie are stood next to one another. The next moment Dean’s fist is where Robbie’s head should be. He punches with such speed and strength that the impact literally dissolves Robbie’s skull, brain, and flesh into fine red mist. His corpse remains standing for a moment, wobbling on dead feet, before toppling to the ground.

The knife around my throat begins to shake. The men in black are stunned into silence. I don’t think they realised quite what they were dealing with. No one has seen Dean’s true power, except for me. And even with me, he held back.

I don’t know what makes the man behind me hesitate. Perhaps he’s worried about throwing away his bargaining chip. Perhaps he’s just scared of what would happen to him if he hurt me the way Robbie did. Or maybe he’s just too shocked to act. Whatever the reason, it gives Dean a split second to save me and that’s all he needs. I feel a rush of air over my shoulder, and the man is gone. He doesn’t even have time to scream.

One by one, Dean dispatches the men violently and without mercy. He grabs one by the skull and squeezes, causing his head to crack like an egg. He picks up another and tosses him with such power that his body smashes against the brick ceiling. The next guy finds himself bathed in heat vision, so powerful that he is reduced to ash before he knows what’s happening. Dean puts his hard hands on a man’s shoulders and shoves downward, causing his body to crumple in on itself, first the legs, then knees, then spine, then ribs, all breaking and compacting like an accordion. The next soldier, Dean simply rips in half, spraying blood in every direction. He approaches another, clapping his hands together with incredible force. The shockwave liquidates the man's insides. He starts to bleed profusely from his eyes, nose, ears, mouth. And then after a few moments of gagging on his own fluids, he falls over dead.

I’ve never witnessed such unbridled carnage before. I’ve never seen so much blood, heard such terrified screams coming from grown men. Where they once oozed confidence and swagger, now they beg for their lives. Dean ignores their pleas as he executes them. He takes grim satisfaction in his revenge. No one escapes. No one survives. And as I watch him take out the last of them, as the room falls quiet and I’m left staring at his blood-soaked body, I realise I don't know him at all. Because the man I know, the man I fell in love with, isn’t capable of this.

As he slowly trudges toward me, I shrink back into the chair as far as I can, closing my eyes, holding my breath. I’m scared. I flinch as the bindings around my wrists and ankles are easily torn. The smell of blood is so thick that I struggle not to vomit. I push feebly against his slick, wet arms as he tries to pick me up. “Don’t touch me!”

I look up to find him staring down at me in confusion and hurt. The animalistic side of him is gone for now, but I know it’s just below the surface. I know how little it takes to surface. The deep blue of his eyes stands out against the redness coating his skin. He looks down at his hands, at the thick fluid coating them, at the smears he left on my arms when he took hold of me. It’s as if he never realised anything was wrong until now. His face fills with panic as he surveys the destruction he caused, the dozens of corpses. He doesn't know what to do. What to say. How could anyone explain this?

Then, without warning, he blasts through the roof and into the sky.

And just like that, I’m alone.   

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Tho i would've love for more life wrecking damage to Dean im glad he safe for now.

Those guys didnt know who they were messing with and it's a shame. They were starting to be such great antagonist.

Jake lost it and his powers are scary He is a god among men. Dean knows there is a dark side in Jake's power far more intense than he realised and now he is scared and anyone would be. Now if they want to be still together they need to learn to accept it

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I love the fact that Dean's abilities are secondary (a close second) to the character building and complex relationship between the two MC's.  Awesome story.  Always looking forward to the next installment.  Thank you, Speech500!

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